


Running To Stand Still

by cerie



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: 9/11, F/M, Guitars, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:56:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s better to be numb so he isn’t pissed the fuck off about how no matter what he does, it doesn’t seem to be the right thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running To Stand Still

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Callie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie/gifts).



> Set during The Newsroom 2x02 "The Genoa Tip."

“I thought men only played guitars when they were planning on getting laid?”

Will is regretting giving MacKenzie a key to his apartment. It’d had been suggested after the shit with his ulcer that someone have a key to his place and he’d stupidly decided that MacKenzie should be the person who did. He didn’t think that would mean she’d show up in the middle of the night whenever she damn well pleased but apparently he was wrong. At least he’s dressed.

“You don’t know, Mac, I might have a girl in the other room.” MacKenzie scoffs a little and shakes her head, her glossy hair brushing against her cheeks and neck. Will has always loved her hair, loved how shiny and soft it is and he’s just buzzed enough that his focus has narrowed down to this instead of the 9/11 broadcast he didn’t anchor tonight. Sloan and Elliot had been great, of course, and neither had wanted to do it but it still didn’t change the fact that it should have been him in that chair. It should have been him. He’s so fucking tired of doing the right thing and calling a lie a lie and being encouraged by Charlie to do it only to have the rug yanked out from under him again and again. It’s bullshit. He hates it.

He doesn’t hate MacKenzie. Her face has set into a frown and she sees the overflowing ash tray and the mostly-empty bottle of Jameson’s and he knows he’s in for a lecture. He doesn’t really care. It’s better to be numb so he isn’t pissed the fuck off about how no matter what he does, it doesn’t seem to be the right thing. Besides, if MacKenzie yells at him, he’ll have the benefit of getting to look at her while she does it; he’s always loved when she gets riled and he’d just prefer it wasn’t at him.

“You don’t,” MacKenzie says, rolling her eyes. She sinks down on the couch next to him and tosses back the rest of his drink, making a face when the splash of whiskey she gets is watered down. MacKenzie’s always liked her drinks strong even if she likes ice and his weak drink isn’t to her liking. She’s pressed close, her hip and thigh lined up against his. MacKenzie’s never really understood the concept of personal space and she’s forceful about it, pushy and demanding, and right now he’s too out of it to care.

“Play me something, Billy?” Will knows all her favorite songs. He remembers long hours in bed next to MacKenzie playing request after request and singing for her, teasing her. He wonders if she still likes the same songs. He wonders if she still gets misty eyed at “Imagine” or “Landslide,” if she will still request “Losing My Religion” when she’s taking a drag off his borrowed cigarette. He gives her a grin and it gets a little wider when she reaches across him to steal his lighter and cigarettes, popping one into her mouth and attempting to light it a few times before she just makes a frustrated noise.

“I hate your lighter,” she mutters as he leans over and lights it himself. She bought him this lighter, silver engraved with his initials and the date of their anniversary, and he knows for a fact that she doesn’t hate it. He strums a few chords before he decides what he wants to play, sliding into something slow and soft before he really realizes what it is. MacKenzie is no singer but she knows this one, her voice light and soft and unsure as it tries to match pitch with his.

_You got to cry without weeping, talk without speaking, scream without raising your voice._

She trails off and lets him finish, one of her hands squeezing his knee and sliding slightly higher up on his thigh. The other pulls the cigarette away and stubs it out, half-finished. He’s always fucking hated how MacKenzie can’t seem to finish anything and leaves half-empty beer bottles and cigarettes around his apartment; he doesn’t mind it so much now because it’s a familiar old intimacy, the ghost of a relationship past.

“You only play the guitar if you want a woman in your bed,” MacKenzie says, voice low and husky, and Will wonders what the fuck she’s talking about. He finishes the song and starts playing another but she touches her fingers against his, pressing them right against the frets. She tugs his hand up, presses her lips against his fingers and draws the tips of them into her mouth, sucking lightly. “Put a record on,” she murmurs. “Put me in your bed.”

It’s a little forward for MacKenzie but he’s miserable and sex is something that’s always made him feel good, especially sex with her. There’s never been a woman who’s gotten under his skin the way MacKenzie does and right now, he wants her. It’s stupid as fuck and he’ll regret it tomorrow but for right now, she’s something good and not a reminder of his numerous failures of late. He decides on Coltrane, drops the needle, and crosses back over to her.

MacKenzie is small enough that his hands practically span her waist and he backs her gently into his bedroom, fingers sliding beneath the hem of her shirt to brush against soft skin. He ends up kissing her in the doorway, saxophone blending with the gentle sounds of a late-summer rain against his windows. She tastes like smoke and Jameson’s and all the complicated and fucked up things he’s always loved about her; he never stopped loving her.

MacKenzie twists a little and helps him get her shirt off. Will dips his head and kisses her between her breasts as he unhooks her bra, not really concerned about moving things to the bed right this second. MacKenzie seems content to be pressed up against the door, after all, and he’s not going to argue about that. He drops down to his knees and pops the button on her jeans, pushing them down off her hips and grinning when she’s wearing a scrap of black lace and silk that seems to show more than it covers. The panties go too and MacKenzie kicks them off with his help; it’s mostly an excuse for him to run his hands up her legs from ankle to hips as he kneels for her.

He kisses her thigh lightly before shifting her legs apart, guiding one of hers over his shoulder so she’s open for him. He might regret it in the morning but right now, he wants this, and it seems hotter that he can’t even get her in bed before he does this, desperate and needy and wanting. He presses his mouth against her and slides his tongue up and around and everywhere except where she needs it most. MacKenzie is impatient and he is not; he can go all night when it comes to this.

He knows he’s close when she’s so slick that he has barely any friction and her breath is coming fast. MacKenzie’s hand curls tight into his shoulder when he sucks on her clit and she releases it with a softly-hissed “fuck,” as she slumps against the door and lets it and him take her weight. Will grins up at her and shifts to his feet slowly, wrapping around her and kissing her deeply before she backs him up to the bed. His own clothes come off easy, tossed in the floor, and it feels like no time has passed at all when he’s flat on his back and MacKenzie is shifting over him, sliding onto him torturously slow. She presses her lips together and lets her eyes drift shut, seemingly concentrating, and when he arches up into her she makes a low, soft sound that he wishes he could record and just play on a loop.

She keeps it slow, which isn’t like her, but Will likes it because it means he’ll remember it. He wants to memorize every freckle, every sigh, every moment because he’s almost forgotten how fucking beautiful she is like this and how much he loved her. The wind blows a little faster and there’s a storm now, lightning arcing across the sky and thunder rumbling low in the distance; he rolls his thumb against her clit and coaxes her into another orgasm, a slow build, and only when she’s tight around him and flushed with pleasure does he come too, fingers digging into her hips.

MacKenzie curls against him and pillows her head on his shoulder. Her face is red and her hair is damp with sweat but Will’s pretty sure she’s never been more beautiful than she is right now. He slides his fingers through her hair and sings a little, low and soft, and she drifts to sleep in his arms.

He doesn’t sleep. He wants to remember.


End file.
